I sit alone on a rock halfway up the mountain,
Look at the white clouds steaming over the front peak,
An unknown little bird,
Taunting my confused soul.
White clouds and cakes soar,
Dissolved into the vast expanse;
But in my cramped heart, ah,
But it is condensed with mist and sorrow!
The bright morning light has revealed,
Washed away the front peaks like islets;
Like the phosphorescence among the tombs,
A tiny flame in my chest.
But this bleak weak fire sparks,
Illuminating the wreckage and embers,
Although it is a mockery of the past,
But it lasts for a long time!